


The Sun, My Angel

by cjoym



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Flower Child Harry, Fluff, M/M, Punk Louis, well not really but that was the prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:13:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4480538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjoym/pseuds/cjoym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis' a grumpy asshole, but slightly lesser so around flower-toting Harry. Fluff, comedic innuendos, and banter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sun, My Angel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fireproof (kblaze2)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=fireproof+%28kblaze2%29).



Louis loved kids, he did, almost as much as he loved acting. Driving into the shoebox city outskirts, though, he began to question just how much he loved either of those things.

It was still light outside, despite Louis’ pit-stop in Manchester to scope out their ever-so established fine arts university. His hometown was alright enough, he kept telling himself—the university served its purpose, harbouring a home for any of the seventy thousand Doncaster residents—but even his professor had told him he would need to branch out to fully exercise his talent and further his career. 

On the flip side, Manchester’s population of millions was well accommodated for, with specialized universities. And, truth be told, as much as he bitched to his mum about how everyone at Manchester School of Arts was probably “pretentious as hell,” Louis couldn’t deny he hoped they’d accept his application.

Slowing down to town limits—small town limits, at that—he huffed a breath, ruffling his fringe. He’d need to trim that soon.

Easing his Vans-clad foot off the accelerator, Louis peered out the windshield at the surrounding dense greenery. The buildings ahead looked reminiscent of pioneer days, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he saw cobblestone. 

There was a charm about the place, he’d admit that—but it was just so fucking small. Nothing like the big city life he was leaving, and nothing like the even bigger city life he wanted. 

Louis didn’t notice the glowing orange low-fuel symbol on his dashboard until the car rolled to a stop, gas pedal unresponsive. He nudged it downwards with his toe. Nothing.

“No no no, shit, no,” he groaned, stomping on the pedal, to no avail. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, not this, not now. Fucking hell…” He trailed off, smacking his head on the steering wheel with each newly chanted profanity.

He released a quiet growl, kicking the side of the compartment his feet were in. If he were in Doncaster, he could call a tow truck, but Holmes Chapel was just _so fucking small_ that people probably walked more often than drove, and if there weren’t any buses or taxis, there sure as hell wouldn’t be any tow trucks. Louis wondered idly if they still used horse-drawn carriages before blinking and throwing his door open. Beside the road was a field, and the town really was only a few minutes of a walk ahead. 

He unbuckled his seatbelt, fighting futilely with it before wrestling it over his shoulder. “This entire fucking car, I swear to god,” he muttered, grabbing his beanie from the passenger seat and shoving it on his head before climbing out. 

“This entire fucking summer job,” he gritted through his teeth, though he felt repentant immediately afterwards. He didn’t mean that—after all, he’d wanted to teach drama, and this was a fantastic job experience, as well as something he was able to put on his Manchester application. 

“I take that back,” he apologized to no one in particular. “It’s just this entire fucking town, I swear.” He trudged on further, the sun warming the cool air enough he only shivered once. He mentally thanked himself for not spending longer in the beautiful university, with its dumb, shiny hardwood floors, and stupid, grandiose arches. He’d have to thank Zayn for the tour.

Stepping off the road and shoving his hands into the pockets of his favourite hoodie, from college football days, he pulled his beanie lower over his forehead, stomping on. 

It wasn’t until closer to the town Louis saw the figure sitting cross-legged in the field, back turned to Louis, his ringlet hair and unbuttoned cream shirt billowing back lightly in the breeze. 

Louis increased to an easy jog, calling out. “Hey, you! Hey!” His voice lost on the wind, Louis pursed his lips and sped up.

“Little darling… Here comes the sun, do do do dooo…” The heavy voice carried on the wind towards Louis, making him pause for a moment at the beautiful, lazy vocalizing. The warmth-dripping rasp, the slight crack at the end of the phrasing… Louis felt his heart stutter a little bit.

“And I say…”

“Hey, you!” Louis called again, less loudly, reaching the syrupy voiced figure.

“It’s alright…” Honey Voice finished quietly, glancing over his shoulder to see Louis, panting mildly, plopping down beside him. Two years since college footie was taking more of a toll than Louis would like to admit.

“You alright, there?” The figure—a boy, really, probably only a bit younger than Louis, but baby-faced—asked, turning around. Louis took him in; his sharp nose and chiseled jaw, the shining, crinkled eyes and raised brows, and promptly forgot for a moment what the question was.

“Uhh… Oh, yeah! No, I mean, not ‘yeah’—but like, not no, either… well, sort of. I guess?” 

The boy watched in amusement as Louis stammered, feeling his ears heat up. “My car ran out of fuel, which is really my own fault because I got too distracted in Manchester and forgot to fill up, and I’m heading to my boy Liam’s because he’s been looking for a flat mate and we’ve been so close for so long so it was perfect, but I’m going to be late now, and I have to stop by the school for a debriefing tomorrow so I need to unpack tonight, but my bags are all in the car, and I am not going to carry them all the way into town because that is ridiculous, but I also am not about to push my car however far it is to Li’s and enter Holmes Chapel looking like a complete tit. Uh, hi, I’m Louis?”

“Harry,” the boy nodded, trying to keep his face solemn, but unable to prevent the forming smirk.

“Lovely meeting you, Harold. Look, I’d love to stay and chat, but like I said, I’ve gotta run, so if you could tell me the fastest way to cut through town to get to the nearest filling station so I can either run all the way back out here tonight or early tomorrow morning, that would be great, please and thank you.” Louis stood, brushing off his bum.

“It looks like a Harrison.”

Louis blinked. “Come again?”

“Your car,” Harry said simply, motioning to the blue Beetle. “It looks. Like a Harrison.”

Louis blinked. “Do you name cars on the regular? And like a George Harrison? I’m not a huge Beatles fan, you know.”

“No,” Harry paused, his speech even slower than before. “Like a… _Harry-son_.” He cracked a wide, dimpled grin at his own stupid, adorable fucking pun.

The boy's elation faded quickly as he processed Louis’ statement. “You don’t like The Beatles?! How do you survive? Don’t tell me you’re one of those types who only listens to the car radio or what’s on the telly!”

Louis flushed. “There’s nothing wrong with the radio, dear _Harrison_ ,” he protested, “And no, I do listen to some other things. I just never got into the Beatles craze is all. Boy bands, you know?”

“Excuse me?” Harry gasped. “And here I thought we were getting along so well, Louis,” Harry tsked. Louis tried not to flush at how Harry drew out the syllables of his name, or blush at the teasing disapproval. 

“What’s not to like about a couple of good looking, musically talented lads? Don’t tell me you never had a poster of Justin Timberlake on your wall. Maybe I should’ve been singing ‘Here Comes the Thundercloud’ instead, you seem to be a perpetually pessimistic parade-piddler.”The boy grinned cheekily once more at his own joke, which really wasn’t even funny, though Louis had to give him credit for the alliteration.

“No, it’s not that, I’m all for that hot and talented shit,” Louis said defensively, wondering briefly if Harry found boy band members attractive in the same way he did. “It’s just, well, to be fair, I haven’t listened to much of The Beatles, and no comment on JT, but even then, I—that’s not the point, you’re distracting me. I just really need to get into town, get fuel, and get back out to my car before it gets dark.”

Harry nodded soberly, pushing himself up from his yoga-esque lotus so he was standing. He towered over Louis, and the unbroken line from the boy’s milky collarbones to his navel was only slightly more distracting than the skin-tight black jeans he wore. 

“The petrol station is right on the edge of town, you can be there in five minutes. I assume you haven’t got one of those red plastic gas containers in Harrison’s trunk, but if you tell the attendants Harry sent you, they should loan you one.” He pointed with his left hand, a small bunch of deep purple flowers Louis hadn’t noticed in his right.

Louis followed his finger, able to see the red service sign. “Right on, thanks. Have yourself a good night, Harry,” he beamed. 

Harry smirked, but nodded. A few melodic vibrations quietly rippled through his buttery throat as he began humming again.

Taking one last look at the pretty angel, Louis turned, restarting his jog towards Holmes Chapel, as the quiet singing dissipated behind him.

~~~

It was only Louis’ first day in town, and already he was bored, bored, bored out of his wits. 

He had followed Harry’s instructions last night, making it to the flat shortly after dark, and flopped right onto his new bed after catching up with Liam. Unpacking hadn’t taken as long as he’d thought, only the morning, and then they had gone out for brunch with Liam’s girlfriend. She had introduced herself as 'Sophia', but Liam only fondly referred to her as “Soph.” Louis liked that, that Liam was happy and so head over heels in love. He deserved it.

Liam's flat was quite cozy, for a student’s. The sheets smelled of the familiar washing powder Liam's mum used, Louis having slept over multiple times as a child before Liam's dad was transferred to Holmes Chapel. Then, sleepovers were reduced to every other weekend, to every other month, until they ceased altogether. From then on, Liam made sure to visit Louis whenever he was in Doncaster visiting family—Louis was family. They spent many holidays together despite the move, for which Louis was grateful.

Surprisingly, or perhaps unsurprisingly, Liam owned actual food; there were even some vegetables in the refrigerator. Louis would have to start introducing some green into his diet that wasn't pistachio ice-cream, or, god forbid, green tea. It seemed to be the only type Liam had in his cupboards, the damn health-freak. Louis needed to go out after the debriefing and buy some black tea, preferably Yorkshire, and preferably soon, if he wanted to remain sane.

 

With a steaming cup of tea, Louis swiftly exited the café, which was surprisingly noisy for a town as tame as Holmes Chapel. He was still a bit peeved he couldn’t find a loose-leaf tea shop, but he’d make Liam pick something up once the other had finished his shift at the pub.

The drama day camp debriefing had gone quite well, Louis thought, with the instructors showing Louis around the local grade school and explaining how the program would progress. Louis was sure teaching the younger children’s camp basic drama techniques twice weekly would be a breeze, and was looking forward to the older pre-teens thrice a week, for longer hours, preparing a short production.

He blew through the small hole in the plastic lid, his fingers wrapped around the warm, paper cup. Yes, the camp would go well, and he made a note to thank his professor yet again for the glowing recommendation. Blowing again, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply—

—and then promptly snapped his eyes open in revulsion. “ _They did not_ ,” he snarled, taking the teabag’s label between his thumb and pointer finger.

As he suspected, they indeed did. 

Not wanting to waste it, Louis gripped the cup tightly, storming through the square and over to the grass. Maybe he can water the plants with it, or give it to a gopher or some shit. He’d hate to inflict it upon the gopher, though.

“I can’t believe it,” he sneered. Maybe he was overreacting a bit much over a slight tea mishap, but then again, he was in Holmes Chapel. All immature reactions were justified.

The ground dipped down a bit past the pavement, and Louis just about dropped his cup when he saw a long-limbed figure lying peacefully in the grass.

“Shit! Harry, I thought you were a corpse! And then I almost spilled my tea on you! What are you doing out here?”

“I do live here, you know,” he drawled dryly. Sensing something was wrong, Harry sat up quickly, rubbing his eyes and scanning Louis up and down. “Are you alright? You did make it to your friend’s—Liam, yeah?”

Louis nodded, as bitter as the offending beverage he held. “I did, yes. That was fine, it went well.”

“So what seems to be the matter?”

Louis ground his teeth. “They got my tea wrong.”

“Why do you always seem like you’ve got a pole up your arse?”

Louis screeched. “What?! I beg your fucking pardon, Barry Manilow? I come to you for comfort in this time of need, and you tell me I’ve got a stick up my ass? Well, you can, you can take it up the ass, too, you monster!”

Harry frowned. “Pole? Not my preferred object of penetration.”

Louis’ eyes bulged even further out of his head.

“You’re stepping on the marigold, Lou,’ Harry murmured, gently pushing back on Louis’ shin.

“Oh, shit, sorry!” Louis yelped, stepping backwards. 

Harry laughed. “It’s fine, Lou, damaged things are beautiful too.” He stretched a hand out, making Louis freeze for a second before realizing what Harry probably wanted. He tried not to be too disappointed when Harry said, “Can I try some of your tea? It’s getting a bit chilly.”

“You can have all of it, Haz, though I wouldn’t if I were you.” Louis saw his eyebrows raise, and he explained, “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it in theory; I ordered tea, though, black—as in black tea, like a good, quality Yorkshire, though I don’t mind an English Breakfast here and there. The insufferable bastards gave me black tea, alright—as in green tea, taken black.” He scowled. “Though to their defense, it was rather noisy.”

The curly headed boy giggled, full on fucking _giggled_ , and reached for the cup, pulling Louis down to a sitting position while at it. “I love green tea—“

“Of course you do.”

“—but it’s kind of your fault for not being more specific.” Harry smiled and took a sip, the tea having cooled on Louis’ way over. “And green is nice; it’s the colour of life. I think it’d be my favourite, if I could choose one. That or orange.”

“Mine has always been dark red,” Louis amended. “Not brownish like maroon, though.” Harry nodded thoughtfully at that, not commenting on how it matched Louis’ choice of jumper. 

Harry reached out a bit instead, fingers pulling at the hem, and echoing, “Dark red, but not quite as brown as maroon. It’s a good colour for you, Lou.” 

Louis’ cheeks matched his jumper almost instantly. Trying to distract the twitch of his groin, and no, not the thudding of his heart, he reluctantly dragged his attention away from Harry’s hand on his thigh, and noticed yet another bundle of flowers lying loosely in Harry’s lap. They matched the thin tee shirt he was wearing, a pale yellow.

“How was the debriefing?” Harry asked gently, retracting his hand to the warm paper cup, much to Louis’ disappointment.

“You remembered.”

Harry nodded easily.

“It was… It was good, yeah. I’m really looking forward to it, especially the older kids—I’m working with two age groups—six to eight, and nine to eleven—and they’ll both be great, I’m sure, but the older ones can learn more complex things, you know? With the younger ones, it’s more of a confidence-boosting class; learning to project your voice and be outspoken, give input, recognize your role both in class and outside of class is important, all that.” Louis gestured wildly with his hand, slowing to a still once he wrapped up.

“That sounds amazing,” Harry amended, “and I’m sure it will all go brilliantly. 

Harry paused for a second, staring at Louis’ face. Louis immediately felt self-conscious, rubbing his cheeks futilely. “What, have I got something on meself?”

“No, that’s not it,” he said, swatting Louis’ hand down. “It’s just—well, this is the first time I’ve seen you smiling. I thought you were always grumpy.”

Louis squawked. “That is not true! I’ve laughed before, at things you’ve said! Haven’t I?”

Harry chuckled at his lack of composure. “No, yeah, a bit, I suppose. I would’ve brought up the topic of kids sooner if I knew you beamed like the sun when it was mentioned.”

“I love kids,” Louis grumbled, “And I’m not always a grumpy bastard.”

“No, I didn’t think so,” Harry murmured.

 

Louis had been reluctant to leave, but Harry needed to go to work (though he wouldn’t tell Louis where, “it’s a secret”), and Louis had to go back to the flat for supper with Liam anyway.

“You’re making heart-eyes at your pasta, Lou, what’s going on? Oh my god, do you have the hots for a coworker?” Liam gasped.

“Excuse me, Liam, of course not! I do not have the hots for anyone, let alone a coworker,” he protested.

Liam just hummed and went back to twirling his spaghetti.

~~~

The first week had not gone well.

Unfortunately, neither had the second.

Louis did love kids, or he seemed to remember feeling that way, but the younger group seemed to be hell-bent on giving him a difficult time. Sure, they were children, but Louis swore he hadn’t made as many fart jokes at their age. 

He was tired, and his patience had worn thin. Despite their tomfoolery, Louis had handled every situation without being too cross, but walking back to Liam’s felt like the end of a nightmare rather than a long day.

Luckily, the school was in walking distance from the flat, and Louis thought it convenient to finally be able to get some exercise to make up for the last four years of fast-food and late-night cramming.

Louis also figured he should start to take advantage of Liam's fully-stocked pantry, because as much as grabbing a granola bar and tea in the morning may have worked for university, he was an adult now, and should eat accordingly, with daily servings of fruits and shit. 

He’d prefer chips. Was ketchup a vegetable? 

He pat his grumbling stomach amiably, wondering what leftovers were available to heat up. “Almost there, I promise.”

He jogged up the stairs to the door, reaching into the pocket of his ripped skinny jeans. “Wait. Shit. No. Fuck.” Louis groped his pockets, then his hoodie, looking like he was giving himself a full-body pat-down. “No no no, not again,” he moaned, feeling a sense of deja vu. He turned around sulkily. “This entire fucking town, I swear. There goes the healthy eating plan, not that there was much of one. Take out it is. But I guess I'm not eating in. Why is it take out if you’re taking it in? Oh, fucking hell.”

He continued to gripe as he made his way to the center of town, cutting through the park, throwing a temper tantrum that would make his high school drama teacher proud. 

“There's my little thundercloud,” a familiar voice sang.

Louis turned to see Harry, lying in the grass, hands laced behind his head and a daisy—well, technically, it was chamomile; Louis’ obsessive tea drinking had taught him that much—chain around his neck. A dark beanie was falling off his unruly curls, and he was wearing yet another sheer blouse, speckled with a floral pattern. His sleeves were pushed up his wrists, one of which was adorned with three hemp bracelets.

Louis scrunched up his nose. “Do you happen to live in the wild? And here we see a wild Harry in its natural habitat—observe its prowess, its lithe body, perfect for attracting mates and predators!”

Harry rolls his eyes fondly. “I was doing yoga earlier, but I appreciate the compliment. You're sort of a drama queen.”

“Thank you, Harry, I would sure hope so after four years of theatre school. Thank you for the help the other day, by the way, I don’t think I thanked you again for that.”

Harry's pink lips popped open. “You're an actor?”

“Oh, don't look so surprised, young Harold, it's not that far of a reach. Besides, to act, one needs to be dashing and witty, and I've got that in spades.”

“I don't argue that, Lou, but don't you have to be pleasant to work around if you actually want a job in the industry?” Harry asked innocently, batting his eyelashes. 

Louis narrowed his eyes. “I beg your pardon, dear Harold?” he challenged.

“Well, I'm just saying, you seem to be pretty dour lately. Hey, you sort of resemble Grumpy! You know, like the dwarf?”

Louis squawked indignantly. “That was so uncalled for, Harrison Ford. I have never been so offended in my life. Just because you're in a blissful state of unadulterated ease does not mean I'm unpleasant. 

“Sure, I'm relatively cranky right now, but I would say I have the right to be. I haven't eaten since early this morning, and I was walking around all day, might I add in a still unfamiliar town, and a really small bloody town at that, and I left my keys inside my flat so I can't go inside to make some food or even take a damn kip, and Manchester probably won't even accept me because being a counsellor at a children's drama camp isn't enough experience when they have applications of people who've been on Broadway—I mean, I sent in my audition demo reel too, but they probably won't like me, not when they have their little budding stars to groom, so yeah, I think I have the right to be grumpy right now and if you have a goddamn problem with that, you can—“

“Do you want to get something to eat with me?”

Louis fish-mouthed for a second, taken aback. “Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I'd love to.”

“Sick, I know this really good bakery we can go to,” Harry concurred, standing and starting to walk.

“Wait, right now?” Louis scrambled to his feet, chasing after Harry. “Harold, slow down, not everyone's six foot thirteen.”

“Pretty sure that makes them seven feet and an inch, little dwarf, did you have to drop out of college to act? And you said you're hungry, aren't you?” Harry teased, but slowed his pace nonetheless.

“Well, yeah, but I want to at least look nice if we're going on a date,” whined Louis.

“Let's go on another one sometime, then,” Harry absolved.

“Oh. Yes. Another, then.”

 

“This is it.” Harry gestured grandly at the beige building, a clear case holding various baked goods visible under the glare on the windows outside.

Louis nodded approvingly. “I’ve always been one for cupcakes. Shall we?”

Harry linked his arm into Louis’, stepping inside the bakery together.

A bloke, roughly their age, moved out from behind the counter as soon as they entered the bakery, his blonde hair fading to dark at the roots. “Harry, muffin! Back so soon? I thought you asked for the day off, though you didn’t mention this lovely one being the reason,” he said, his Northern accent full of implications.

Harry blushed. “Yes, that’s correct.” He turned to Louis, who was gaping, mouth open. “Niall, this is Louis. Louis, this is Niall.”

Louis stepped forward, extending his hand, but Niall pulled him into a tight embrace. “So you’re the one Harry’s been mentioning! It’s great to meet you, mate.” He leaned in closer, lips at Louis’ ear, and muttered, “Bout fucking time, too. It’s only been ten days and I’m ready to stick my head in the oven, he talks about you so much.”

Louis blinked, not believing what he’d heard. “I—Nice to meet you too, yes,” he stammered out. 

When Niall pulled back, he took in Harry, eyeing his choice of attire. “You’ll catch a goddamn cold, Harry, when will you put some clothes on?” He clucked his tongue, turning and walking back behind the counter, pausing in the doorway that led to the kitchen area. “Just ring yourself up, yeah? I’m supposed to be baking macarons. And it’s on me today.” With a wink, he disappeared, his cackle echoing throughout the front room before disappearing as well.

Louis spun to face Harry. “You work at a bakery?” He hissed.

Harry nodded. “It was a good secret while it lasted. I wanted to see the surprise on your face, but you don’t seem very shocked. Am I that predictable, or should I be giving more credit to your acting skills?” He walked behind the display case, taking out a croissant and placing it into a paper bag. “Cupcakes, you said?”

Louis nodded, eyeing the case in wonder. “What would you recommend?”

Harry peered through the glass from the other side, biting a grin when Louis made eye contact with him through it. “The black forest if you like fruit, or the mint chocolate chip, though you could never go wrong with a chocolate or vanilla.”

“That one, the mint chocolate chip.”

Harry pulled out the tray, using a thin square of wax paper to extract the dark cupcake and place it in a paper box before handing it to Louis.

“Niall seemed to recognize me.”

Harry’s shoulders shook as he chuckled, entering their purchases into the register. “That would be my fault. He may have heard… a few… things about you these last few days.”

“Such as?”

Harry hesitated. “Your distaste for green tea was brought up when debating whether to make green tea or earl grey infused cake batter.” Seeing Louis’ nose wrinkle, Harry laughed. “We went with the earl grey.”

Louis nodded slowly, opening the door for Harry.

“Thanks, Niall!” Harry called.

“Yeah, thanks, mate, see you around!”

Niall’s resounding guffaw made Louis think he’d heard about more, much more, than just his hatred for green tea.

 

They walked back to the park in a comfortable conversation lull, Harry occasionally singing something about going down to strawberry fields forever.

“So the kids,” Harry prompted, plopping down and ripping off a piece of his croissant with long fingers.

“The kids,” Louis said slowly, sitting beside him. He bit his lip, looking down thoughtfully. Harry rolled the hunk of croissant between his fingers, waiting patiently.

“The kids—the kids are good, they’re a good bunch, especially the older ones. The young ones… They’re alright individually, yeah, but not as easy to handle in a group. Some of them are troublesome, but that’s expected with kids, innit?”

“Troublesome in what way? How many are there?” Harry had squished the croissant into a doughy cube, smiling at his creation before popping it in his mouth.

Louis blew air through his lips, realizing he still hadn’t cut his fringe. “Twenty two, and it’s—well, maybe ‘troublesome’ isn’t the right word. Maybe ‘difficult’ is more apt.” Harry’s eyebrows creased at that, beckoning Louis to continue.

“The reason I managed to get this job, see, is because Mrs. Johnson, the old drama teacher who ran the camp, retired this year. The other teacher, Mrs. Strauss—“

Harry barked a laugh. “Mrs. Strauss! I had her for choral in grade school, she’s a lovely lady.’

“You don’t say? I met her, she was quite scary, I found.”

Harry grinned. “What can I say? She was fond of me.”

“Always the charmer,” Louis retorted with a smirk. “But yes, Mrs. Strauss! The students miss her, I think, and I don’t blame them; it can’t be the same without her. 

“She’d wanted to keep the program going, though, as did the teachers and kids who were in it the previous years, which is why they reached out to my professor in Doncaster. He told me they asked around in Manchester as well, but he accepted the offer before even running it by me; he knew I’d love it, acting and being around children, and recommended me very highly to ensure my place—before anyone at that pretentious art school could fan-kick their way into Holmes Chapel.” Louis grimaced. 

“Those darn Manchester students, with their bloody brilliant academia and intensive method acting classes…” 

Harry tore off another bite of his croissant, sensing a long-winded tangent.

“The arts university in Manchester, see, is extremely elitist. They only take the cream of the crop, the best of the best. My friend Zayn was accepted there, few years back. It’s always been my dream to apply there, but I stayed in Doncaster my first four years for my undergraduate, at home with my mum. It was cheaper, and she needed some help with my sisters, which I was happy to do. They’re older now, though, and I’ve worked since then, so I’m really hoping this summer job will give me the money and experience to go to Manchester,” Louis sighed wistfully.

Harry wavered before speaking. “My sister, Gemma, she went to Manchester School of Arts for writing. She works at a print company now, I’m really happy for her. 

“Anyway, like, when I finished college, I applied at Manchester’s other university, and finished my two years of Arts and Sciences, and I might return this year, but—” he blushed, dropping eye contact, “I also applied at Manchester School of Arts. For photography. I didn’t know it was so radically difficult to gain acceptance into, after Gemma got in—not that she’s not good, she’s a brilliant writer—but she does more journalism, whereas they focused on screenplay there, which she never thought to be her strong suit. If I’d known they were so picky, I would’ve saved myself the application fee.”

Harry’s face was red with the admission, and Louis was ready to hurl himself off a cliff.

Shit.

Louis wiggled closer to Harry, tucking an errant ringlet behind his ear. “Harry, no, no, love, it’s not like that at all. It’s competitive, but nothing you have to worry about. You’re brilliant; they’d be ridiculous not to have you.”

“They’d be even more ridiculous not to take you. Hey, you haven’t even seen my photos!” Harry laughed.

“You haven’t seen me act, either!”

“I saw you having a meltdown in the park.”

Louis fumed a little at that, taking an angry bite of his cupcake. He couldn’t stay angry for long, though, with rich cocoa, the colour of Harry’s curls, flooding his mouth, and buttery, mint frosting the colour of Harry’s eyes on a cloudy day.

“Ohf my gah, Haz,” he all but moaned, swallowing (and not missing the way Harry’s pupils dilated when he did). “Delicious. You—I mean, that, um, that was delicious.”

Harry reached towards him, Louis freezing as Harry swiped his thumb over Louis’ lower lip. He pulled back and suckled on the tip of his thumb with a small pop. 

Fuck.

“You, um, you had some frosting.” Harry explained, licking his lips to get rid of any he’d accidentally smeared on himself. “Minty.”

Good god.

Harry would be the death of him, he was sure of it.

~~~

The next few days didn’t improve stupendously, though Louis was trying this new thing where he didn’t complain quite so much. The kids’ camp was still a difficulty, and Louis was trying to convince himself that’s why he was feeling somber, rather than acknowledging the fact it had been days since he’d seen a boy with soft, brown hair, and even softer eyes.

Even Liam had noticed his melancholy mood, asking over breakfast, “Still having coworker problems?”

“Shut up, Li, it’s not a coworker.”

“But it’s someone?” He’d whooped. “Fuck yeah, who is it? Lou, come on, don’t be so embarrassed,” but had the decency to stop when Louis just grumbled into his cereal.

“Oscar, Chase, that’s not appropriate,” Louis said firmly, stepping between the two quarreling children. “Stop, now, please, or I’ll have to call your parents. 

“Please, Lekha, Ella, we talked about this, remember?” He said, walking over to the girls and taking their highlighters away to prevent them from further using their scripts as colouring paper.

“Okay, everyone, let’s get into a circle to play Janitor, and then do our reads! Who wants to start?”

The kids disregarded him completely, talking amongst themselves or, to Louis’ mild horror, doodling on the scripts he’d given them for a reader’s theatre. 

He ran a hand through his fringe, exasperated, but knowing they wouldn’t cooperate until they were ready.

A little redhead squealed sudden, running towards the door. “Haz Haz Haz!”

Louis spun around, hearing a rumbling voice echoing through the auditorium. “Penny, love, why do you have a marker stuck in your hair?” Harry chuckled, placing a large paper box he had been carrying with both hands on the desk, and gently pulling the highlighter out from where it was lodged in her ponytail.

The other kids noticed Harry as well, all scampering off the stage to him with cries of “Harry!” and “What’s in the box?” and “I sang it, just like you told me to, and my mum put it on YouTube!”

Surrounded by the flock of young children, Louis noticed how attentive he was, greeting each of them by name and answering all their questions. He looked up as Louis stepped off the stage, flashing a bright smile before it disappeared, worry replacing it. Harry bit his bottom lip, and Louis wanted to kiss him, kiss the smile back on.

“I’m so sorry, Lou, is this alright? I never even asked you, I—”

“Harry, of course it is. I don’t understand, though, how do they all know you?” He’d made his way through, parting the children like the Red Sea, and reaching Harry.

“Remember when I said Mrs. Strauss was fond of me?” Harry quickly directing his attention to a blonde haired boy tugging on his shirt. “The box will be opened in a minute, Andrei, so long as Mr. Tomlinson here approves.”

Louis laughed. “It’s Louis to them, we’re not that formal.”

Harry winked. “I’m aware, Mr. Tomlinson.” Louis choked on his own saliva, coughing once and hurriedly changing the subject. “Mrs. Strauss?”

“Right, yeah. Well, I guess I was… sort of her favourite choral student? I’m not all too sure why, I wasn’t the best singer by a long shot, but during and after college, she asked me to come in and teach the primary school with her, so I worked at the bakery and did that on the side.”

“You did leave that part out,” Louis said, narrowing his eyes before looking at the box, recognizing the small logo on top. “Speaking of the bakery, what’s in there?”

Harry looked at the kids around him, all jittery with anticipation, before taking the top off to reveal an assortment of two dozen cupcakes.

The children cheered happily, Harry distributing a cake to each child as they politely lined up, giddily thanking him.

“You said there were twenty two, right?”

Louis was stunned. Harry gave the last child a cupcake, leaving two left, and leaned against the desk, children sufficiently distracted. “I—I don’t know what to say, love. Is that why you asked me how many were enrolled? Did you start planning this the minute I told you about their… resistance?”

“I figured the best way to win over the rebels was with sweets.” Harry extended his hands, a cake in each, looking very petite in comparison. “Key lime or red velvet?”

“Thank you,” Louis murmured, taking the red velvet and peeling off a side of the wax paper. “You should have made angel food cake, though… that would have been most fitting.”

Harry blushed, busying himself with his own cupcake. Louis moved in closer, leaning against the desk beside Harry. “Thank you, Harry. Really. It means a lot, and the kids obviously adore you.” He dropped his voice before murmuring, “They’re not the only ones.” 

Louis took his hand, then, and Harry gazed at him, his eyes unfocused, before blinking and smiling back with a soft, fond expression that matched Louis’. 

“Of course, Lou.”

 

They watched the kids play and shout, Louis occasionally squeezing Harry’s hand, or Harry bringing their entwined fingers up to wipe cream cheese frosting off Louis’ nose. Before long—much too shortly, in Louis’ completely unbiased opinion—everyone had finished their cakes and were becoming restless. Louis had pulled out his phone, surprised at the few remaining minutes until the camp was over for the day, and reluctantly turned to face Harry, keeping their hands laced.

“I should get back to work,” Harry said tenderly.

“You’re supposed to be at work?”

Harry blushed. “It was slow. I would’ve come sooner, but we’ve been busy these last few days. Eventually, Niall packed the cupcakes up himself, telling me to ‘get my scrawny ass out the goddamn door before he punted me to Uranus’, the Irish demon,” he chuckled, bringing their hands up to his cheek. “I should go, though, don’t want to give him too much to talk about.”

Louis snickered. “Oh, he’ll think of something, I’m sure.”

“He will.” Harry turned his head, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of Louis’ hand, before letting go and picking up the box, turning it vertical to press between his and Louis’ chest. “Have fun with the kids, love,” he whispered, his breath as sweet as the powdered sugar they’d had. He kissed the tip of Louis’ nose with a smile before pulling back and exiting, leaving Louis’ head spinning—from the sugar, it was just a sugar high.

Louis made his way up to the stage in a daze, tripping on the stairs but quickly recovering. “Stairs! Stairs. There’s stairs there, everyone, be careful. They’re pretty steep, so. Watch your step. On those stairs.”

He turned, ready to tell the children to talk for a few more minutes before parent pick-ups began, but was met with the surprising sight of the children making their way to the stage. To Louis’ relief and mortification, none of them tripped. 

“Can we play Janitor?” Ella asked, her high soprano bubbly and excited.

“Yeah, Janitor!” The rest of the children chimed in, “Or the theatre’s reader!” 

Louis could hardly believe his ears, laughing. “The reader’s theatre? We could do that, yes!”

He felt a small pull on his tee shirt, looking down to see Andrei peering up at him, eyes squinted in concentration. 

“Is Harry your boyfriend?” 

“He’s… He’s very dear to me, yes.”

“But is he your boyfriend?” Penny piped up.

Louis pressed his lips together to hide a smile. “I hope so.”

~~~

Louis wasn’t lying to himself anymore. He was doing his walk-through of Holmes Chapel purely in search of Harry, which he swore he’d never admit to Liam. Liam would never let him live it down.

He’d tried the bakery first, though he didn’t remember Harry working Saturdays, where Niall had taken one look at him and promptly said “Fucking hell, mate, when I told Harry I’d punt him to Uranus, I didn’t think he’d literally be up your ass. He’s not here today, sorry, Cheeky.”

Louis grinned. “How do you know I’m not here for you? And that bread smells amazing.”

“Oi, I’m at work, stop coming onto me! Save the coming for Harry! Shit, mate, you’ve got serious puppy eyes right now and just because I’ve got some buns in the oven does not mean it’s so hot and steamy I’ll take my clothes off, so your flattery will get you nowhere—

“Okay, okay—“

"And we’re in a bakery, you shit, I’m not about to christen this place—when we say love goes into our goods, we don’t mean that literally! Plastic wrap is not protection! We eat pie here, not ass—“

"Oh my god, please—" 

“And you can let Harry know, too, that the only thing here doubling for lube would be the damn buttercream, you fucking sicko!”

Louis had burst into laughter and nodded, calling a quick thanks before loping out. Niall had shimmied back into the kitchen, performing a single hip thrust and patting himself on the back for the comedic gold.

It didn’t take Louis long to find the boy after that, though he was unsure as to whether it was due to his own superior navigational skills, or the miniscule size of the town. 

Perhaps he was attuned to Harry, like turning the dial on a radio channel until the static clears.

“And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light that shines on me…”

Louis plopped down and crossed his legs beside Harry, watching him grin as he resolved, “Shine on until tomorrow, let it be…”

“That one, I recognized, at least,” Louis smiled. “Maybe the Beatles aren’t all bad. Hey, did you know Niall is very explicitly is against bakery sex?”

“I got in,” Harry breathed

It only took Louis a moment to figure out what he was talking about.

“To Manchester School of Arts,” Harry finished.

“Harry—Harry, that’s amazing! I’m so happy for you, we should take the day to celebrate!”

Harry spoke carefully. “I don’t—like yeah, I’m really excited, but do you know if you’re in yet?” Seeing Louis’ head shake, he went on, “It doesn’t quite feel right to celebrate until you know you’re in, too.”

Frowning, Louis ran his hand through his still too-long fringe. “That’s nonsense, Harry, and it’s not as if I’ve gotten a rejection letter.”

Harry just frowned at him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Harry,” Louis’d murmured, wrapping an arm around his waist, “No, you should have. I’m proud of you.” 

Louis took in his, as per usual, inappropriate-for-the-weather attire, and ran the paper-thin material through his fingers. “Harold, are you trying to get a cold? Leaving Niall to work those shifts alone, are ya?”

“He’ll have the ladies for company—Donna and Martha, and Gladys, once she’s back from London.”

Louis let out a low whistle, and Harry laughed, rushing to clarify, “They’re all in their sixties, don’t you go getting any ideas. They’re sort of our like our surrogate grandmothers.” 

Louis started to remove his hoodie, but Harry stilled his hands on the zipper. 

“All good, Lou, I’m used to it.”

“It’s cold, H, don’t be silly.”

“Guess you’ll just have to cuddle me, then.”

He did. 

 

Louis shifted eventually, his head in Harry’s lap. Harry leaned down and pecked his nose, playing with Louis’ feathery hair for an indeterminate amount of time. Louis wasn’t counting.

 

A mobile vibrating brought them out of their reverie, and Louis didn’t miss the devilish smirk that flit across Harry’s face. 

“That’s my phone, Harold, don’t get so excited.” Louis answered the phone, seeing his mum’s name on the screen before putting it up to his ear. Before he could get a word in, she was buzzing.

“Louis, love! There’s a envelope here, it looks quite posh, from, oh my lord, Manchester School of Arts, I can hardly believe it.” She continued rambling, making Louis chuckle dryly.

“Do get on with it, mum?”

“Manners, Boobear! Anyway, you know how I try not to pry and open your mail? Well, I haven’t—I think I deserve some credit for that—but it’s quite heavy. Quite a thick package, indeed,” she said slowly, her voice low and wavering but threatening to shoot an octave up in excitement.

“Oh, go on, then, open it,” Louis chuckled. 

Harry looked at him quizzically, and Louis covered the receiver with one hand. “It’s my mum. She says there’s a thick package at our place, belonging to me, but mine's rather intact, so she must be talking about a different sort of package.” 

Harry groaned at the innuendo. “Do you speak to your mother with that mouth, Mr. Tomlinson?”

“No, but I do some other things with it.”

Harry smacked his forehead fondly. “Shut up and talk to your mum.”

Louis snickered and pulled the phone back up to his ear.

“What's the news, Mum?”

~~~

“Liam seems to like me.”

Harry spread out multiple bunches of flowers, a rainbow of assorted colours. Louis recognized the purple as the ones Harry’d had the first time they met, when Harry had guided him into the right direction, figuratively and literally. 

The last two months had been something out of a fairytale. Nothing would have been the same without Harry—not his job, his happiness every day for the future, their future, and certainly not himself. Louis was different with Harry. He had always been a firecracker, but Harry, Harry had lit him ablaze. 

“Corncockle.” 

Louis sputtered at that. “Sorry, I only heard ‘cock’?”

Harry grinned saucily. “The flowers, you fiend. The purple ones, they’re called Corncockle.”

Louis’ eyes flashed wickedly. “Not the type of cock-le I’m interested in.” Laughter shook Harry’s stomach, but he continued to splay out the flowers as if he hadn’t heard.

"And if course Li likes you. He said he remembers you from college, though of course, didn’t actually know you well, what with being in different years. I think he expected something more scandalous, after I took so long to introduce you, but after the pub with Niall, I’m sure they’ll have bonded enough to be concocting—‘con-cock-ting’—more raunchy things.”

“Oh, knowing Niall, he’s illustrated our relationship to Liam via internet smut.” They both chuckled, and Harry pursed his lips. “I’m glad, though, for Niall. He’s not too new, but yeah, only moved here from Mullingar, like, a year or so back, and he’s obviously sociable enough to meet a lot of people, but him and Liam do get on quite well. And to think they might have became friends sooner, if only Liam ate croissants instead of protein bars.”

“Or if Liam worked his pub shifts at nights.”

“That said, we might not have met if I hadn’t decided to venture out of town that day, and had you not ran out of gas, stomping around like a giant when you’re much too small to make the ground shake,” Harry snickered.

“Uncalled for, Gary Busey.”

Harry’s lips quirked up. “Sorry.”

“And no, I think we were bound to meet anyway. It was just a matter of time, and fate working. All these times I'd visited Holmes Chapel to see Liam in my younger years, and despite the size of this town, we never met. I think we would have, though. Eventually."

Louis didn't miss the blush that settled on Harry's face.

"These dark red ones, they’re poppies, right?” Louis picked up the small bouquet, weaving quickly with nimble fingers as he’d seen Harry do.

“Very good, Lou, they are. You have to be careful with poppies, though—some of them contain opium. In the Wizard of Oz, a poppy field put Dorothy and her friends to sleep, giving them pleasant dreams, almost as if a spell had been cast.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “I can understand. I feel… I’ve felt as if this is all a hallucination, and I’m about to wake up in Kansas instead of this fantasy, because it’s too good to be true.”

“Depends on the fantasy.”

Harry groaned. “I meant you’re a dream come true, but that too.”

“Why the flowers?” Louis blurted out, genuinely curious. Feeling unable to stop himself, he reached out, picking one up just underneath the head, but resting his wrist on Harry’s thigh rather than drawing it back.

“Why not?” Harry asked back earnestly. Louis’ eyebrows knit together, waiting for Harry to finish.

“Mistletoe is native to England,” Harry winked, before continuing. As if Louis needed more excuses to kiss Harry. 

“My mum likes them.” He spoke softly, covering Louis’ hand with his own and tracing his thumb over Louis’ knuckle. “My sister, too. The women at the bakery like them as well. Sometimes I go specifically to find the edible variety, for our frostings and cakes—Gemma uses them in her cocktails, sometimes—but it’s usually just for fun. I like being outdoors.”

“Being outdoors, and doing yoga and singing Beatles songs,” Louis agreed, his voice soft. “And the colour green, and cupcakes. Bananas, too, and making people happy. And maybe, just maybe… boys named Louis.”

Stroking Louis’ tanned cheekbone with his fingertips, Harry took his hand in the other, a small smile forming. “Cream of the crop, best of the best, boys named Louis who’ll attend pretentious art universities? I’d say those statements are pretty accurate, yeah.” Harry flicked Louis’ nose before twining his fingers in Louis’ hair, brushing back the fringe. “You should cut this, your eyes are quite beautiful.”

Louis squeezed the hand holding Harry’s, gently tugging one of Harry’s long locks. “Like you’re one to talk, Curly.” 

Louis reached down with his free hand to pick up the red-petalled, green-leaved flower crown. Stretching his arm up, and okay, maybe Harry ducked his head a bit so Louis didn’t have to stretch, he placed the halo tenderly on Harry’s curls. 

“Because you’re my angel,” Louis whispered, leaning forward.

“And you, darling, are the sun,” Harry hummed, cupping Louis’ jaw and smiling gently against his lips.

 

xxx

~~~

 

Deleted scene:

“I think I might go vegan,” Harry mused, popping a purple grape past his shiny pink lips.

Louis froze guiltily, the gob of burger sitting half-chewed in his mouth. “But you wear leather boots,” he protested.

Harry mulled for a second, chewing and swallowing thoughtfully. “It’s the thought that counts, Lewis. Those poor animals, how awful. Who needs meat when you've got kale?”

"Depends on what you mean by 'meat'."

" _Louis!_ "

**Author's Note:**

> "FlowerCrown!Harry and PunkRocker!Louis and a field of flowers or something. Louis could be walking his dog or just being a grumpy asshole kicking the heads off of daisies because that’s clearly the answer to all of his problems. Enter a literal -- and very annoying -- ray of sunshine in the form of bohemian hippie Harry who quotes Beatles lyrics and is probably doing yoga. They keep meeting accidentally... and then on purpose, because Louis can’t stay away from the happy boy with the curls."
> 
> I figured I'd write straight fluff (well, gay fluff, but you know what I mean) to help us all through this stressful babygate angst. huge thank you to fireproof for the lovely prompts, I hope you don't mind my lack of strict adherance! thanks to my various betas, K, K, and H. a quick apology—I'm not from the UK, let alone Cheshire, so I apologize for any phrases which weren't accurate. lastly, I hate one direction for ruining my life, fuck u @1d, but thank you all for reading. much love, take care x


End file.
